


Angles

by WeirdHybrid



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst?, Body Worship, Flashbacks, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, how do tags work honestly, maybe? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 23:36:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3874132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeirdHybrid/pseuds/WeirdHybrid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Kyungsoo has to cope with the absence of the man he worships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angles

        When distance separates Kyungsoo from the object of his affection, he tends to burrow inside the hovel of his heart and cling to memory until he can be sated again. He sinks into the soundless sea of his mind, and remembers.

        The angles of Jongin’s body anchor Kyungsoo to the world, snapshots of his form decorate the insides of Kyungsoo like tiles, glossy and pristine, preserved in patterns that haunt and nourish Kyungsoo when they’re apart. Like the intricate topography of Jongin’s hands – all rocky knuckles and sinew. He loves Jongin’s hands, and he loves the equal strength and fragility of which they’re capable. Those hands that instinctively nest in his hair when he’s nervous, that paw at the shelter of warm sheets when he’s reluctant to wake. Those hands that have sent lightning up Kyungsoo’s spine at their touch.

        Angles – like his strong legs clipped by bony ankles. Kyungsoo remembers tying Jongin’s shoes once early in their training days, remembers the instant dryness in his throat when he accidentally touched the taut skin at the back, feeling the stretch of tendons beneath his fingers. He remembers watching Jongin dance during rehearsal that afternoon and being entirely consumed with the observance of his malleable ankles.

        These are the details Kyungsoo holds onto when Jongin is away. He fills the empty space with collected images of the symmetrical downward slope of his shoulders, his naturally concave posture accentuating the gentle curves and cuts of his arms. And, oh – his arms – which are an enigma all their own.

        In the timeless moments spent learning Jongin’s body, Kyungsoo never tires of exploring, of examining the nuances of the man he loves. He is fascinated, mesmerized by Jongin’s minutia, like the wrinkle he gets between his eyebrows when he finds something really funny, or the bluish veins visible on the underside of his forearms, or the parallel brackets that crease his cheeks when he smiles.

        Kyungsoo’s ardent observation is his security in isolation, but it also serves him when they are together. Like how he knows the difference between the puffy arcs of Jongin’s eyes when he’s simply tired and the deeply depleted expression of exhaustion, a broken, painful fatigue that isn’t solved by sleep. It took a long time for Kyungsoo to understand what this exhaustion meant, and how to respond. Jongin gets tired from the work, from the hours, from the stress, but it’s hopelessness that really crushes him, when he can’t see meaning in the drudgery of schedules and shows.

        Kyungsoo tried everything he could to heal his boyfriend’s wounds, but he felt that Jongin was indulging him each time, and that his persistence was a burden. On a whim, during one of Jongin’s rougher days, Kyungsoo put him on a train and sent him to a retreat, some lake he’d visited as a child, with a kiss and instructions not to come back for two days. Jongin’s eyes had filled with tears at the gesture, and Kyungsoo’s inkling was validated. So, sometimes Jongin has to escape, has to be alone and center himself without the demands of the production company, the fans, the other band members, or even Kyungsoo. But he always promises to come back when he’s ready, knowing that Kyungsoo will wait, maybe not patiently, but sympathetically, always with a welcome embrace upon his return.

        And though the separation, and the veiled, mysterious quality of Jongin’s retreats, isn’t easy for Kyungsoo to weather, he accepts it willingly, because the angles of Jongin’s body anchor Kyungsoo to the world; they frame his frenetic, doubt-prone mind, they ignite the carnal corners of Kyungsoo’s soul, those parts of him he’s always been embarrassed by, been too fearful to indulge until Jongin set him on fire.

        Like the first time Kyungsoo allowed himself to give in, to let Jongin take control from him and use it to teach him. They had been toying with each other for weeks, thieving little flecks of affection and hiding them away from the world, sharing a quiet battle against better judgment and rationality and guilt. Jongin was more sure, but he was patient, and Kyungsoo was a wreck, coiling tighter and tighter with need every time Jongin pressed his lips to his ear or squeezed his fingers around Kyungsoo’s shoulder with more pressure and insistence than necessary, but less pressure than Kyungsoo’s conflicted heart yearned for. Over the course of a day, Kyungsoo would make and break dozens of silent promises to himself, ailing over the tension between his desire for normalcy and for just one taste of Jongin, one lingering mouthful after which he would get over it.

        When he found the strain intolerable, he avoided Jongin for several days, hoping to dull the sharp edge of his cravings, stuffing his ears full of music to drown out the increasingly perverse thoughts that overwhelmed him. But his eyes wandered despite his efforts, mapping the divine mix of masculine and feminine in Jongin’s face from a safe distance – the obtuse, sleek jaw that set when he was annoyed; the blessed expanse between his nose and top lip that shrank when he doubled over in laughter; and the little dip beneath his full bottom lip, the small, suggestive valley that garnered Kyungsoo's most potent obsession, the feature that had inspired shameful tears from an over-tired Kyungsoo late one night curled up in bed alone; Jongin’s straight, childish nose and his easy smile. And his eyes, framed in soft curves and peaks, that expressed a reciprocal need on better days, their gaze like a lighthouse to a stranded, capsized Kyungsoo.

        But stubborn obligation and responsibility trumped want. Kyungsoo vowed to paint over the vivid images in his mind, and he sank deeper into himself, willing the greedy feeling in his gut to wash away in a numbingly hot shower after a torturous day of practice. He had escaped the other guys when they returned to the dorm, feigning a headache, and retreated to the bathroom. The spray forced his eyes closed, and he reveled in the sting of hot water on his scalp, his shoulders. But with his eyes closed, his body worn out from the long day, he weakly submitted to the flood of fantasies he’d denied himself the past week. Jongin’s adept muscles tensing and stretching gracefully throughout their practice session flashed in Kyungsoo’s mind as steam clouded the shower: his elastic wrists, his severe shoulder blades heaving with the beat of their song, his teasing hips flexing in suggestion, his neck arched in a choreographed pose, gleaming with sweat…

        Kyungsoo’s breathing became heavy with want, and he felt thankful for the privacy of this moment, because he felt the cloying pressure building in his pelvis, the hot water lulling him in his self-indulgent thoughts. He let his instincts run their course, and he slowly pumped himself into routine arousal, fueled by sweet images of a lithe, masculine dancer.

        He heard the bathroom door open, and he froze, the hot water suddenly feeling abrasive. Footsteps, then a pause. Kyungsoo tried to regulate his breathing, but there was a figure visible through the frosted glass door of his shower stall, a tan body bare apart from low-slung sweatpants. These were methodically shucked and hung outside the door before the younger man entered behind Kyungsoo’s quivering frame, the water running down his toned body as he approached. There were no words to communicate both the violent aversion Kyungsoo felt to this invasion and the elation that seeped out from his bones at the realization of his fantasy. Jongin seemed to assess this conflict, always attuned to Kyungsoo’s neuroses, and reached his hands out reassuringly, wrapping his arms around him, pressing the whole of him into Kyungsoo’s back. The contact was unbearable, particularly just seconds after Kyungsoo had been getting close to coming, and he whimpered softly.

        Jongin responded by angling his hips forward, his half-hard cock fitting into the indentation between Kyungoo’s cheeks, the water easing the slip of skin on skin. He ducked his chin down and, while softly gliding his hands around the shorter man’s torso, marked a trail of soft, wet kisses along Kyungsoo’s neck and shoulders. The effect was immediate, and Kyungsoo was gasping, extending his own arms out to grasp at the wall for support. But Jongin moved slowly, Kyungsoo nested in his calming embrace, as his hands ran a more deliberate path along ribs, down across hip bones, pausing at the symmetrical valleys between the top of Kyungsoo’s legs and abdomen. His fingers pressed in at the junctures slightly in question.

        Kyungsoo bucked his hips back into Jongin without hesitation, grinding against his pelvis with more assurance than Jongin was accustomed to receiving from him, moaning at the increased closeness. This was the enthusiasm Jongin had been hoping for; his hands obliged Kyungsoo’s needy movements, wrapping around his desperately hard cock. The rhythm of Jongin’s strokes wasn’t hurried, but combined with his skilled mouth marking up Kyungsoo’s back unmercifully, his sharp chin and jaw causing Kyungsoo to shudder and spasm in pleasure, plus Kyungsoo’s own prior solo performance, it didn’t take very long for the older man to come hard and heaving, sullying the tiled wall of the shower.

        The pattering static of the shower masked some of Kyungsoo’s shuddered moans as he came down from his high. Jongin’s hands reverted to holding onto Kyungsoo around the chest, protective and patient. Kyungsoo pivoted in his embrace to face Jongin with impossibly round, grateful eyes. He would never forget the expression in Jongin’s own gaze: expectant, vaguely unsure, but entirely devoted. It’s a look Kyungsoo remembers now with a flush of pleasure.

        The details that make up Jongin, the ratios and pigments of his body, the subtle smells and tastes it has taken a year to learn are all treasures Kyungsoo is honored to know. And he is always hungry, always curious to understand how someone so beyond comprehension could allow him this close, closer than anyone has gotten before. So Kyungsoo studies, memorizes every thread that knits Jongin together. But he aches when he is deprived of his muse, his master. The angles of Jongin’s body anchor Kyungsoo to the world, and without those angles, he feels like a puppet, cut from its strings.

        Because those angles are heaven, and they’re home.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing music:  
> "Missing You" - Betty Who  
> "You Are Mine" - MuteMath  
> "Love You to Death" - Taeyang


End file.
